


what a complicated creation

by rAnines (clockworkcorvids)



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: 5 Times, 5+1 Things, Anxiety, Cats, Character Development, Character Study, Classical Music, Denial of Feelings, Deviancy (Detroit: Become Human), Deviant Upgraded Connor | RK900, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotionally Repressed, Fidgeting, Identity Issues, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Panic Attacks, Pining, Rated t for testosterone, Sensory Overload, Trans Gavin Reed, Trans Male Character, Upgraded Connor RK900/Gavin Reed-centric, Upgraded Connor | RK900-centric, Violins, Whump, about romanticism and the genius of beethoven, ah theres the tag i wanted, have i mentioned that i'm a cat person?, i climb in the reader's window at 2am and begin rambling, just putting that out there, my only talents are playing the violin and projecting, nines coming to terms with the fact that he feels emotions, nines is emotionally stunted: exhibit a, no beta we die like men, there's a cat named boomer in this, this is my legacy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-07
Updated: 2020-02-07
Packaged: 2020-08-11 12:57:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 11,808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20153971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clockworkcorvids/pseuds/rAnines
Summary: Nines has been a deviant for a year, but sometimes he feels no more alive than he did the day he was activated.(Or, five times Nines learned something new about himself and one time he learned something he already sort of knew.)





	1. PRELUDE

**Author's Note:**

> a quick 5+1 i've been working on to fight the writing block. i know i said i wouldn't post anything new for a while and i still probably won't post on a regular schedule but i have two fics in the works :)  
i also joined the [ android whump big bang ](https://android-whump-big-bang.tumblr.com/post/186802497560/announcing-the-android-whump-big-bang-challenge-of%22) so that's fun!!  
title is from complicated creation by cloud cult.

**November 17, 2039. Detroit, MI.**

One year. 

It had been one whole year since the prototype RK900 model, now known as Nines Anderson, had been activated.

And instead of celebrating the fact that he’d been alive and free for that entire year (his brother, Connor, having activated him with the deviancy virus already installed), Nines Anderson was having a panic attack on the bathroom floor in the police station.

Back pressed against the cold tiles of the wall and knees pulled to his chest, inside the stall furthest from the door, he hyperventilated as he sat there, red error messages flashing across his vision.

^76% LEVEL OF STRESS

He wasn’t crying yet, but he could tell that he would be soon.

A leaky urinal dripped quietly in the background, but the sound was somehow amplified by his processors, every drop of water onto the tile like a short-circuit to Nines. It almost  _ hurt _ , every one of his senses flooding him with useless information as his stress levels rose.

^88% LEVEL OF STRESS

It had been a  _ whole fucking year _ of Nines being deviant, and he still could barely find any personality to speak of inside himself. Cyberlife hadn’t bothered to give him the social protocols they outfitted his brother with, had they? His premade personality matrix wasn’t a personality so much as it was just traits that came along with some of his skills―he was an expert at reading social cues and vitals to tell when someone was lying (never mind that he wasn’t equipped to follow those social cues himself), he was insanely agile and fast both physically and mentally, and of course there was the fact that he quite literally had a supercomputer for a brain.

He had thought, at the beginning, that this would mean he would shape a personality quickly, without the trouble of trying to tell preprogrammed traits from acquired ones, but now it just seemed as if Cyberlife had been determined to make sure he was never able to assimilate into human society.

Nines squinted his eyes shut and opened them again, and shivered as a cold stream of thirium trickled down his cheek, and then another, and then he was sobbing and he couldn’t stop. Thirium splattered the white fabric of his Cyberlife-issued jacket―why had he never bothered to replace that thing?―and soaked into the black of his Cyberlife-issued slacks.

He was a failure, wasn’t he?

Nines’ thirium tears hit the off-white tiles, slowly creeping towards the drain a few feet away.

^91% LEVEL OF STRESS

Designed to never deviate, designed to never assimilate if he somehow  _ did _ deviate, and then thrown headfirst into a world where he had never known anything but deviancy.

At least he was the prototype, and there had never been another RK900 made after him. No other android would ever have to suffer like he did; that was a relief.

He deserved this.

^94% LEVEL OF STRESS

Why hadn’t he just asked Connor to shut him down after the first week? It would have saved everyone the trouble. He’d gotten the worst parts of deviancy, the crying and the pain, but none of the good things.

^96% LEVEL OF STRESS

Most people treated Nines like a human these days, even those who had previously had anti-android prejudices before the revolution, but was he really anything more than a machine?

^99% LEVEL OF STRESS

WARNING: STRESS LEVELS CRITICAL

Nines snapped out of his trance at the sound of footsteps entering the bathroom. A familiar pair of well-worn steel toe boots appeared outside the stall: Detective Gavin Reed, work partner and friend, Nines’ scanners helpfully supplied, as if he didn’t already know that. His rapidly overheating processors spun, trying to preconstruct a way out of this situation that didn’t end with Gavin discovering him having a panic attack, but it was too late. He would shut down from the stress if he did anything but continue to sit here.

The owner of the boots knocked rapidly on the stall door. What would Gavin think of him after this? Surely he would laugh at Nines, call him weak and pathetic.

“Hey, what the fuck is going on in here? Nines? Are you okay?”

Nines continued to sob violently, unable to force himself to speak. More thirium splattered on the floor, and some part of him realized that Gavin must think he was injured, but he just sat there shaking.

“Nines!” Gavin sounded almost as panicked as Nines felt as he rapped his knuckles on the stall door again. “Let me in!”

Nines wanted to speak, wanted to tell Gavin to go away, or that the thirium was from tears and not a wound, but his processors were whirring too fast, everything far too loud and too bright even in the dim of the bathroom, and red error messages obscured his entire field of vision now.

Gavin swore under his breath and stepped back, and then the door shuddered and flew open with a  _ bang _ as the lock popped off. Gavin grabbed it with unprecedented speed, stopping it from slamming into the side of the stall or into Nines, and slowly closed it behind him before crouching at the android’s side.

“Hey,” he said, voice softer as he saw that Nines was panicking and not dying (although it certainly felt to the android as if he was dying), “what’s going on?”

Nines forced himself to move, looking up at the detective. His arms were still wrapped around his knees, making himself as small as possible. He finally forced himself to speak: “Panic...attack,” he croaked.

V 97% LEVEL OF STRESS

Gavin’s expression shifted from that of concern to something uncharacteristically empathetic and gentle. “Oh, that sucks. I get those all the time, so I, uh, I know what you’re feeling right now,” he said quietly. “Can I sit down?”

Nines nodded. “Just don’t touch me, please. Processors...too much.”

Gavin slowly moved into a sitting position beside Nines, careful to give the android a little space. “That’d be the sensory overload. Happens sometimes with anxiety.”

Nines didn’t have the processor capability to run a search on what  _ sensory overload _ was right now, but the name seemed to speak for itself. 

V 94% LEVEL OF STRESS

“Try to take a deep breath,” Gavin said. “In through your nose, out through your mouth. Slow. Hold it for a few moments. I dunno if that shit works on androids, but if you can hyperventilate it’ll probably do something.”

Nines watched as Gavin inhaled (four seconds), held his breath (seven seconds), and exhaled (eight seconds). The second time around, he breathed in sync with the detective, taking a deep breath and holding it despite his involuntary shuddering and his intense compulsion to keep breathing as fast as he could. 

V 87% LEVEL OF STRESS

For a while, it was just the two of them sitting there, breathing in sync. Nines eventually reached up and wiped as much thirium as he could off his face, the sleeves of his jacket irreversibly stained blue now. He had stopped crying at some point, and not long after that returned to something resembling a normal breathing pattern. 

V 73% LEVEL OF STRESS

Nines’ body was still shaking a little bit, the android equivalent of adrenaline running through his veins, but the sensory overload seemed to have retreated and now he was just left with a pounding headache and the last remains of his fear.

V 60% LEVEL OF STRESS

STRESS LEVELS STABILIZING

The error messages started to disappear, Nines’ vision returning to normal, and he took another shuddering deep breath before peeling his hands away from his knees and stretching his legs out on the cold, wet tile. 

“Thank you, Gavin,” he whispered.

V 42% LEVEL OF STRESS

“Yeah,” Gavin breathed noncommittally, turning a little to face Nines. “If you don’t mind me asking, what was it that made you panic?”

^49% LEVEL OF STRESS

Gavin reached out a hand, almost touching Nines’ shoulder. “Hey. It’s fine. Just...talk to me about it. Only if you feel comfortable, but I can tell you from experience that talking about it can help you work things out.”

Nines was silent for a moment, thinking, wondering if he should confide in Gavin. Would the detective understand? If his current behavior was anything to work off of, he probably wouldn’t judge Nines too harshly, but Nines doubted Gavin would be able to relate. 

Still, they’d been partners for the majority of Nines’ year since activation, and Gavin had shown himself in the past to be a very understanding person given enough time and a good incentive. 

“Do you know what today is, Detective Reed?” Nines queried.

“Thursday?” Gavin replied, sounding slightly unsure of himself.

“November seventeenth, 2039. The one year anniversary of my activation.”

“Nines! It’s your birthday! Why is that relevant to you having a panic attack?” Gavin said, tilting his head in confusion. 

“I’ve been a deviant this whole year, but I just...I don’t have a personality. I barely have any identity. I’ve never known anything but deviancy, yet I can’t help but feel that I’m nothing more than a machine.” Nines leaned his head back against the wall, closing his eyes.

V 36% LEVEL OF STRESS

“You’re not.” Gavin paused, swallowed. “You’re not just a machine, Nines. For fuck’s sake, you’re crying. Only deviants can cry, as far as I know.”

“That is correct, but Cyberlife designed me so that even after deviation, I’m hardly human. They gave me the smallest personality matrix they possibly could, and I’ve been trying to build a personality and an identity but I just  _ can’t _ . It’s too overwhelming. How do you humans do it?”

Gavin threw his head back and laughed, a hearty sound. Nines wondered if his processors were working correctly, because he found himself inadvertently making a copy of this moment and saving it to his ever-expanding mental file on Detective Gavin Reed. 

V 14% LEVEL OF STRESS

STRESS LEVELS STABLE

“Oh boy, you sound like you just hit puberty for the first time.”

“‘The first time’?” Nines repeated. “I thought humans only hit puberty once.”

Gavin’s face paled for a moment, and then he laughed again. “Not this human, buddy. I hit puberty, realized it was the wrong one, and then I had to get it done synthetically the second time around. I’m trans, you know.”

Nines vaguely remembered Gavin mentioning that in the past, but since the detective had never made a big deal out of it, he’d never really thought much about it. He ran a quick search on  _ trans  _ and  _ puberty _ , and no sooner than the information had run through his processors, too fast for him to consciously comprehend, he nodded in understanding.

“But anyways, what I meant was that when you hit puberty, for a lot of people that’s when you start to form your identity for real. Not just gender, and some people figure that out earlier or a lot later or whatever, but everyone gets confused about who they are when they hit puberty. I don’t know shit about how that works for androids, but it’s a normal thing for humans. I know a lot of people like to compare deviancy to a coming-of-age. And, you know, you’re not alone. I know it can be overwhelming trying to figure that out in such a short period of time, but you can get help with that.”

Nines looked at Gavin. “Can you help me?”

Gavin smirked, the scar tissue on the bridge of his nose crinkling as he gave Nines an open-mouthed smile, flashing his sharp teeth. It was the same smile he gave to perps right before they got handcuffed, or when he’d worked a confession out of them, and especially when he pulled a gun on them, but there was something more mischievous than malevolent in his eyes this time.

Nines found himself cataloguing that smile.

“You dumbass,” Gavin said, but the tone of his voice indicated affection that was contradictory to his words, “I thought you’d never ask.”


	2. 1/5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 1/5. Gavin takes Nines thrifting.

Nines splashed cold water over his face, not caring that it dripped down his thirium-soaked black button-up. His Cyberlife jacket, stained with enough blue to make it look like it had borne witness to a massacre, had been shucked aside and thrown into the trash at Gavin’s insistence. 

“It’s too far gone,” he’d said, and Nines had agreed after quickly scanning it. 

“Besides,” Nines had added as he turned the jacket over in his hands one last time, “it’s what Cyberlife gave me. I never asked for it.”

“That’s the spirit,” Gavin had said then, and he repeated that phrase now as Nines undid the top button of his shirt, loosening the collar a little bit. 

Nines wiped down his face with the bathroom’s coarse paper towels until all the thirium was gone, and fixed his reflection with a morose gaze. His reflection stared back in the smudged bathroom mirror, spinning LED bathing his pale face in blue light. Gavin stood behind him, hands stuffed into the pockets of his hooded leather jacket, looking proud as Nines dried his hands and rolled up his sleeves, cuffing them at the elbows.

Nines turned and allowed himself to smile slightly at his partner. “So, developing a sense of self. What were you thinking?”

Gavin opened the door and exited the bathroom, beckoning for Nines to follow him. “Not to be philosophical or anything, but a whole lot of identity hinges on the way you see yourself, and on presenting yourself to others in a way that you like. And  _ you _ ―” he pointed at Nines “―need to figure out whether you actually want to be wearing your Cyberlife threads for the rest of your life or if you’re going to have some actual sense of style.”

Nines didn’t respond, unsure what to say.

“Come on, Nines. We’re going shopping.”

To Nines’ surprise, Gavin drove straight past the mall and parked in front of a secondhand store. It was a Saturday, and with no high-priority active cases on their plates, the two of them had the day off.

“Det― _ Gavin _ ,” Nines said as Gavin shut off his car and started rummaging in his pockets for something, “are we in the right place?”

Gavin muttered a string of profanities under his breath, and then his head snapped up and he looked at Nines. “Of course we are!” he said. “We’re going thrifting, Nines.”

He produced a wallet from his pocket and started flipping through it, and in the absence of further information Nines ran a quick search on  _ thrifting _ . Skimming through the results, most of which dated from the 2010s and early 2020s (Gavin’s teen years, he noted), he found that thrifting had become immensely popular among Gavin’s generation as a more environmentally and economically friendly way of shopping, particularly for clothes.

“Alright,” Gavin said, and Nines swiped the information on thrifting off his HUD, “I found my credit card. Let’s go.”

Nines followed Gavin into the store, and his eyes widened as he took in what was around them. The organizational system was similar to a conventional store, but the items this store sold were consistently low-priced, and the styles and age of the clothes had a wider range than Nines had ever thought possible.

Gavin turned to face Nines and put his hands on his hips. “Alright. Normally I go apeshit in a couple particular sections, ‘cause I know exactly what I like, but you don’t know what you like yet, so we’re just gonna have to guess and check.”

Nines found that his voice came out a little weaker than he would have liked, but oh well, deviancy did things like that. “There’s...a lot here.”

“No hurry. Just...wander around, I guess. And promise me you won’t go for those hideous Hawaiian shirts Hank is always wearing. I know he’s your dad, but you do  _ not  _ need to pick up his sense of style.”

An hour later, Nines had scoped out most of the store and picked up something from nearly every section, skipping the racks that contained things which either wouldn’t fit him or which he decidedly did not want to wear. For example: plaid pajama pants. As soft and comfortable as they looked, Nines was just fine sleeping in his boxers, thank you very much, and most of them were evidently made for people far shorter than him.

A pile of clothes in his arms, Nines found Gavin browsing the jackets, examining a leather jacket that was nearly identical to the one he was already wearing. Gavin looked up as Nines approached, and a grin spread out on his face. 

At this point, even if Nines wanted to control the part of his brain that was dedicated to memorizing Gavin’s face every time the man smiled, he wouldn’t be able to.

Tearing his focus away from Gavin’s smile, Nines noticed that he had acquired a few pieces of clothing, all dark and relatively basic. “You found some things?” he asked, nodding at Gavin’s finds.

Gavin grinned again. “Yep. And I got something I think you’ll like, but first I wanna see what you got. Follow me.” He led Nines to a section of the store labelled  _ Dressing Rooms _ and the two of them filed into a blessedly spacious dressing room, not huge but big enough for both of them to stand comfortably. A bar was nailed to the wall for customers to hang their clothes on, and Nines carefully and methodically hung up everything he had.

Gavin dumped his things on the rickety folding chair that was positioned in one corner of the dressing room, and then he leaned against the wall. “What’ve you got?”

Nines held up the first item, a pair of baggy blue jeans. 

“No,” Gavin said before Nines could even open his mouth, and the android pivoted to look in the mirror. The jeans (like everything he’d found) looked like they would be a perfect fit, because Nines had a supercomputer for a brain, of course he could figure out his size without trying things on. Unfortunately, whether they would actually look good was another matter.

Nines cringed. “I’m terrible at this,” he said, hanging the jeans on the back of the chair.

Gavin laughed. “You’re fine,” he said. “Trust me, when I first came out I was broke and growing fast, and I had to thrift all my clothes. I had no idea what I wanted to look like, and it was, uh, not pretty at all. I tried a lot of stuff out, and eventually I realized the safest move was to just steal my brother’s clothes.”

Nines processed this.

“But maybe don’t do that. Your brother has even worse style than Hank.”

A frisson of joy rose in Nines’ thirium pump at hearing Connor addressed as his brother. He moved on to the next item, a black button-up not unlike the one he was currently wearing, but softer and more flexible, and with narrow blue lines crisscrossing it. Holding it up in front of his chest, he immediately felt an emotion he wasn’t sure how to describe, but he knew it was positive. A quick glance at Gavin’s face provided further affirmation: the detective was smiling.

“Try it on,” he said, and then he averted his gaze from Nines, a slight blush rising in his cheeks. “I can, uh, I can get out if you don’t want me seeing you shirtless.

“I don’t particularly care,” Nines said, and purposefully suppressed the parts of his brain that were attempting to consider the consequences of this decision. “Oh, and what do you think of this combination?” He held up a pair of slim, form-fitting but slightly loose black jeans, close to new, in his other hand. Gavin gave him a thumbs up and backed out of the dressing room.

Nines, now alone, changed into the jeans and tucked the shirt in, putting on the belt he’d previously been wearing and keeping his Cyberlife-issued combat boots. As much as he hated the jacket, which might as well have had the words  _ PROPERTY OF CYBERLIFE _ printed across the back, and the all-too-formal slacks that he somehow managed to chase criminals in without ripping, he did appreciate the simple utility of the belt and boots. (And the shirt, but that was ruined by thirium now, and to be honest, it  _ was  _ rather uncomfortable to begin with.)

He stared at himself in the mirror for a long moment, his LED nearly the same color as the stripes on the shirt. 

“I’m ready,” he finally said, opening the door, and Gavin literally  _ gasped _ when Nines came out. 

“That is  _ fucking great _ ,” Gavin said firmly, earning himself a glare from a nearby customer. “But more importantly, how do you feel about it?”

Nines considered. His Cyberlife clothes had been picked out for him because of their simplicity, and utility, and those were qualities he still appreciated, but they were also indistinguishable from the clothes many other androids wore, and this was different. It was difficult for him to articulate the exact emotions he’d felt upon finding the clothes on the rack and then trying them on, but like before, he could tell that those emotions were of a positive nature.

Gavin seemed to notice Nines’ indecision. “Think of it this way. Would you be happy wearing this outfit out in public, and having everyone see you in it? Would you feel comfortable doing that?”

That was an easy question. “Yes,” Nines said, and Gavin gave him a thumbs up again. 

“You’re getting the hang of this,” he said.

Gavin and Nines went through the rest of the clothes Nines had picked out, eliminating most of them and taking a second run through the sections Nines had found clothes he liked in. By the end, Nines had accumulated a small but respectable pile of clothing to fill out his wardrobe with, and Gavin had found a thick plaid shirt, dark green and grey, for himself. The item that Gavin had picked out for Nines was a black and grey jacket just short of a trench coat, with a high collar and coattails that went down a little past the waist. Nines found that he actually quite liked it, and even if he hadn’t, he would have bought the coat just for the smile Gavin gave him when he said that.

On Monday, Nines went in to work wearing the black and blue shirt with the jeans, coat on top, and for the first time in a long time he felt that he might actually be starting to figure out who he wanted to be.


	3. 2/5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 2/5, music. This is something that is very close to my own heart.

Once he was sure that Nines had developed an appropriate sense of fashion, Gavin wasted no time in introducing the android to music. Similarly to his approach with clothing, Gavin did so by recruiting the others at the station to force Nines to listen to a selection of every genre.

Nines would never say this out loud, but he secretly thought it was hilarious that, although Gavin consistently made fun of Hank’s taste in clothing, the two of them shared an appreciation for a genre of music called ‘screamo’. Nines himself also found that he somewhat enjoyed the softer versions of this (‘post-hardcore’ and ‘emo’ were both phrases he heard used to describe this music), but he wasn’t a huge fan of the pop music Connor favored or the fast-paced electronica and rap Gavin’s friend Officer Chen liked.

However, one thing Nines discovered on his own and most  _ definitely _ liked was classical music. Many of the most well-known pieces of the genre had been composed hundreds of years ago, but modern musicians were still creating this complex, mostly instrumental music, and it seemed that certain composers such as Mozart and Tchaikovsky, for example, had never quite fallen out of fashion.

Nines found himself spending a great deal of his free time listening to classical music, particularly that which contained string instruments or the piano, and he found that he not only appreciated the music on a purely aesthetic level, but also that it was, unlike an unfortunately large fraction of modern music, complex enough for him to analyze without getting bored (he still liked some modern music, though, he just found it more stimulating in general to listen to classical). 

Another interesting bonus was that a great deal of music, particularly classical music, was deeply emotional, more so than he had expected; even the pieces that were purely instrumental, and this gave Nines an opportunity to explore the full range of the emotions he was capable of feeling without also experiencing the physical pain that usually accompanied them.

One time, Gavin came into the break room late at night to find Nines lying face up on the floor, Mozart’s  _ Requiem  _ playing where only he could hear it. Nines stopped mouthing along to the Latin lyrics of  _ Lacrimosa _ to greet Gavin (without offering any explanation for his behavior, though) and his partner backed out of the room without saying anything.

Needless to say, Nines quickly found that he had an appreciation for music, the powerful and versatile art form that it was. He thought it was enjoyable, having a hobby that was both casual and intensive, and it felt like he was effectively rejecting Cyberlife by exploring art (even if only in one of its many forms).

He had been created to be many things, but above all he had been created to be  _ efficient _ . Although he didn’t mind it to an extent, it bothered him that he would never be able to escape that aspect of his personality―there was always a part of his brain striving to make things as fast and streamlined as they could be, always a part that was ready to cut ties and burn bridges to get ahead. To be  _ perfect _ .

Listening to music helped him realize two important things: one, perfection was not always attainable, and two, that was perfectly okay. 

Nines came closer to perfection than any android before him had, but it was at a dire cost. Being a deviant, and therefore having no reason or desire to follow his original mission despite his inherent need to have some mission to follow, he found himself constantly making objectives out of what, from an outside point of view, might look trivial. At first, he’d tried to wring every last drop of productivity out of himself, and it had actually worked fairly well due to the fact that, well, he was just naturally more productive than the vast majority of humans. 

But even he needed rest, and he’d constantly been in a state of anxiety at being unable to perfectly complete any manner of things from dead-end cases to the most menial of tasks. Music wasn’t the way that most people (androids included) came to terms with their issues with perfectionism, but then again, Nines wasn’t most people. 

Listening to enough music, he realized that none of it was, from a mathematical or music-theory or even a purely aesthetic point of view,  _ perfect _ . And yet it somehow managed to be breathtaking and beautiful, and he still took the time that another version of him would have used to to listen to it, and he loved it anyways.

He  _ loved _ it; that was another thing that he realized. He was new to the concept of love, but he was starting to understand how he personally defined it, and starting to identify what he loved. 

Cyberlife had told Nines that he wasn’t supposed to take the time to do anything but his mission, that art was a uniquely human concept that he could never hope to understand, that he was incapable of love, and here he was now, telling them that they were wrong.

Well, there was nobody left from Cyberlife to tell that they were wrong, but he could still have the satisfaction of telling himself that he was more than his objectives, that he could understand and appreciate art, and he could love.

Nines loved his brother and his father, he loved his father’s dog, he loved art―specifically music, but he wasn’t discounting the possibility of developing an appreciation for the other arts at some point in the future―and he loved expressing himself, and there was a man who Nines was fairly sure he loved, but he wasn’t sure exactly  _ how _ he loved him.

He thought about this quite a bit, and he ran a background process dedicated to figuring it out for three consecutive hours while he taught himself how to play the violin (he did this the typical ‘human’ way, not by instantly downloading the basic instructions, and he found that doing so filled him with an increased understanding of the material and a greatly increased sense of satisfaction)

Nines wound up spending a great deal of his free time learning the violin, and he progressed far faster than all but the most talented of humans would, but he still resisted the urge to give in and let his programming make his playing into what it thought was perfect. 

That didn’t work with music. Music wasn’t about perfection; it was about emotion. So he learned to play at something resembling a human pace, and he learned another way to express himself, and he began to understand himself a bit more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope everyone enjoyed this, and as always, don't be afraid to leave a comment if you have any thoughts! Thanks for waiting so long for another chapter, I usually update a bit faster but I've been working on some other things recently (original works as well as a few other dbh fics). 
> 
> [ Here ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8oESM64gU5M) is a link to a beautiful rendition of _Lacrimosa_ if you haven't heard it before. (The bit about Nines getting emo over it totally wasn't directly inspired by my own experiences.)   
If you want (or have!) other classical music recommendations, feel free to let me know, as I am a bit of a classical music nut myself. There's always more to learn, but I think I've sufficiently dipped my toes in in my time :)


	4. 3/5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 3/5. Even Nines has fears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> have some uhhhh angst   
not sorry :')

In theory, Nines had known plenty about Gavin even before they became friends.

In practice, though, most of the things he’d gleaned from reading the detective’s file and physically scanning him upon their first meeting were little more than trivial, barely―if ever―coming up in conversation.

Gavin’s being transgender was a perfect example of this. When they had first met, Nines had only been activated days before, and was not accustomed enough to the intricacies of social norms to realize that it would be rude to scan a colleague without their permission. He had realized fairly quickly from simple deductive reasoning that the detective was transgender, but had  _ not _ realized for quite some time that he wasn’t supposed to know this.

When Gavin had come out to Nines on his own, there had been a moment of confusion when he realized how Nines had already learned this, and Nines had felt obligated to apologize for what he had realized, by then, was considered invasive behavior.

All in all, that was one of those things they only talked about in passing and on occasion, because neither of them felt the need to make a big deal of Gavin’s gender or Nines’  _ faux pas _ . By the time Gavin had found Nines panicking in the bathroom on the one year anniversary of his activation day, that conversation had all but faded from Nines’ instant recollection.

Another such thing was Gavin’s educational background. Although his file clearly stated that he had gotten a bachelor’s degree in criminal justice, what Nines didn’t even have a remote idea of until his partner mentioned it was the fact that Gavin had started college intending to be a biomedical engineer.

Nines remembered the exact context of the conversation in which this came up; he could recall nearly every moment of that day if he needed to, but none of that was relevant. Gavin had mentioned it offhandedly―“Yeah, I was going to be an engineer until a couple years after Eli founded Cyberlife. 2022, when the first Chloe passed the Turing Test, I chickened out.”

The casual nature of Gavin’s reference to Elijah Kamski reminded Nines of his partner’s odd relationship to the man―they were half-brothers, but Gavin was understandably not too vocal about this fact to anyone but those few who knew about it.

Evidently, something else he wasn’t so vocal about was the fact that he had helped develop the first androids, and he still knew plenty about how they worked. He’d said that he’d switched majors when he realized he’d always be in Eli’s shadow if he kept up what he was doing, and Nines had wondered what the world would be like if Gavin had kept at it, but they didn’t talk about it again.

At least, not until something relevant from Nines’ own history came up.

As far as nearly anyone knew, Nines had been activated and that was it. He’d been partially activated for testing, yeah, but Connor was the only one who knew the truth about that. The truth, of course, being that he remembered each and every second of it. 

Nines went through a whole year dealing with this alone, and learning the hard way what he’d gotten from that experience: scars, because the technicians were too rushed to patch him up all the way those last few times they tested him, and fear. He had tried, once, to go to a tech for minor repairs, and it had been fine until they’d had to put him in partial shutdown. He’d panicked the second they’d suggested it, unable to remember anything but the glass walls of the testing chambers and the uncomfortably warm hands of the Cyberlife techs patching him up after he’d been ripped apart time and time again.

He’d talked to Connor about it, eventually, and Connor told him that, given his history, it was only natural he’d have such fears. They agreed that, if he were to need life-saving repairs, he would have to go to a tech, but for minor things, they came to the conclusion that someone Nines trusted would have to do the work.

So Connor usually wound up doing Nines’ routine diagnostic checks and patching things up from time to time, and Nines returned the favor sometimes, even though Connor didn’t have the same fears he did.

Except now, his HUD was blazing with a persistent error message that he needed to realign and reboot his optical processors, something which required a little bit of messing with wires, and Connor was out of town for the week.

Normally, he would have just sat it out; no matter how painful, this kind of thing required partial shutdown and he wasn’t about to put that level of trust in someone he couldn’t be absolutely beyond one-hundred-percent sure wasn’t going to harm him, but, well, his list of people who fell in that category might have expanded by one name recently.

“Gavin,” was how he started, placing a coffee that may or may not have been a subtle attempt at manipulation on his partner’s desk.

“Hey,” Gavin said noncommittally, not looking up from the case file he was currently engrossed in. He glanced over after a second, elbows crossed on the desk. “Thanks for the coffee.”

“Gavin,” Nines repeated, and Gavin finally leaned back in his chair and gave Nines his full attention. 

“I require repairs,” Nines said. “My optical processors need to be realigned and rebooted.”

Gavin squinted at him, taking a sip of the coffee. “Do you not know where the techs’ office is?” He didn’t sound snarky, just slightly confused.

Nines grimaced slightly, leaning closer to Gavin so nobody could hear what he was about to say. “I have... _ issues _ with techs. I was partially activated to be experimented on when my model was in testing, and I, ah, I still remember all of it.”

Gavin nearly choked on his coffee. “I’m sorry,  _ what _ ?”

Nines stopped himself from repeating what he’d just said, realizing a moment too late that it was a rhetorical question on Gavin’s part.

“Going to a technician makes me anxious. Can you repair my processors?” he asked, and Gavin sighed deeply.

“Look, Nines,” he said, “I wish I could, but I haven’t actually worked on an android since the original Chloe. I  _ could _ read your manual, but that would take ages, and I don’t want to keep you waiting.”

Nines blinked, reassessing the situation.

“Can Connor―wait, he’s out for the week, isn’t he?”

“Yes,” Nines confirmed. “I usually ask him to do this sort of thing, but...he’s not here.”

Gavin furrowed his brows in concern, staring intently at his coffee.

“Are you absolutely sure you can’t go to a tech?” he said slowly.

“If they need to put me in partial shutdown, I would prefer not to,” Nines said. “If I’m awake the whole time, maybe, but I need to reboot my processors once they’re fixed.”

“Okay,” Gavin mumbled, “okay. We’ll, uh...wait. Why would you be okay with  _ me _ doing it?”

“I’ve found that I can’t convince myself I’m not going to be harmed unless I am beyond completely sure that the person doing the repairs on me is trustworthy.”

Gavin snorted. “Damn,” he muttered under his breath. He took a long sip of his coffee. 

“I, uh, it means a lot that you trust me that much, but until I read your manual there’s nothing I can do but be there with you...for you, I guess.”

Nines sighed. “As much as I want to ignore it, I don’t think I can let this repair wait, so I suppose I’ll go to the techs now. Can you come with me?”

“Of course,” Gavin said somewhat incredulously, as if shocked that that was even a question. He stood, downing the last of his coffee in one gulp, and then proceeded to throw the empty cup directly into his trash can with maybe more force than was necessary.

“Come on, then,” Nines said, “let’s get this over with.”

It wasn’t as bad as Nines had been anticipating, at least not while he was fully awake.

The tech was on the younger side, probably fresh out of school, and she was friendly, albeit clearly a little unsure of herself.

“Alright,” she said, “your optical processors need a repair and reboot? That’s a simple fix, I’ll just have to shut down your environmental sensors while I do it.”

Nines forced a smile from where he was seated on a chair not unlike those found in human doctors’ offices. Gavin stood next to him, leaning against the back of the chair.

“Is there any way to do it while keeping me fully awake?” he asked, and the tech’s expression shifted into one of slight concern.

“What? Why?”

Nines tensed up at the thought of explaining his trauma to someone he barely knew. With Gavin it had been different; not easy, but they trusted each other enough that he had felt safe doing so.

“I’d rather not go into detail, but going into a partial shutdown for repairs causes me anxiety.”

The tech froze up, seeming to process this information. She pursed her lips. “I don’t think there’s anything I can do about the partial shutdown in general, but I can maybe leave your…” She considered for a moment. 

“It should be fine if I leave your auditory processors online.”

Nines cross-checked his manual. The criteria for optical processor fixes suggesting disabling environmental sensors, including tactile sensors and all secondary optics―thermal, infrared, and night vision―but stated that auditory processors could remain online if necessary to facilitate communication between technician and patient.

“I checked my manual,” he said, relaxing a little at that revelation. “You’re right.”

Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad.

He couldn’t stop the panic that rose in his thirium pump as his optical units went offline along with his tactile sensors and he found himself alone in some sort of pseudo-unconsciousness, but it was tolerable for the fact that he knew Gavin was right there. Maybe Gavin wasn’t the one repairing him, but he’d certainly step in if something went wrong, and he talked the whole time―asking Nines how he was doing, if he was okay; telling him stupid stories that made them both laugh.

So Nines knew, now, that he was afraid of some things, but he also knew that it was okay to be afraid. He’d face his fears one step at a time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> school started can i get an f in the chat,,, i love learning but i Don't love interacting with scores of high school students every day.  
anyways uhhhhhh leave a comment if u have any pressing thoughts,,, and [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20280064/chapters/48117877) is a link to more whump of the nines-getting-tested-on nature


	5. 4/5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 4/5, cats.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is just me shamelessly projecting at this point :')  
i love my cats and i would actually die for them,, also big thanks to everyone who's stuck around and stayed subscribed to this clusterfuck! i know havent touched this fic since august but life keeps throwing me curveballs and as much as i dont want to abandon this it just hit rock bottom on my priority list

It was January when Gavin asked him how he felt about cats.

Nines had known for some time that Gavin had cats, and could pull up all manner of information about the animals (or, if he so desired, any of the millions of cat videos that had persisted on the Internet for decades) at will, but he had no particular feelings on them. In Gavin’s opinion, this was “almost worse than  _ not _ liking cats”, and it was “extremely important to know” if Nines was a dog person or a cat person, so Nines took it upon himself, as a New Year’s resolution, to appease Gavin. After all Gavin had done for him, it was only right, and, well...he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t curious. Enough time around Sumo had reassured Nines that he genuinely liked dogs, albeit nowhere near as much as Connor did, but he still didn’t know how he felt about the other most popular house pet in America.

So he turned up at Gavin’s apartment, on his day off, to meet the man’s cats.

Gavin excitedly dragged him in, and the cats were equally excited to see Nines.

“This is Fergie,” he said, pointing at a small ginger cat whose facial coloration created the illusion a permanently disconcerted expression, “and Mer.” He pointed at an older-looking grey tuxedo cat. Both cats weaved in between his legs, and he scooped up Fergie. Mer, meanwhile, gently butted her head against Nines’ leg.

Nines immediately started thinking about the cat hair that was no doubt attaching itself to his jeans at this very moment, and then found, to his delight, that he did not care in the slightest. After all, it wasn’t so different from dog hair, which he’d had more than his fair share of on his clothes.

He bent down and picked up Mer, who was happy to wiggle into what she evidently thought to be a comfortable position in his arms, and began to pet her between the ears. She quickly took a liking to him, butting her head against the palm of his hand as her throat began to rumble with a purr, and the feeling was mutual. A reading of her vitals showed that her stress levels were remarkably low, and a quick and subtle scan of Gavin informed Nines that his stress levels, too, were decreasing now. 

“She likes you!” Gavin said excitedly, gently bouncing the armful of fluff he was cradling like a baby. Fergie, to his credit, didn’t just weather this, but appeared to actually enjoy it. Nines was quickly realizing that Gavin, despite his markedly rough exterior, had a major soft spot for cats. At times like this, when he let his guard down and acted true to himself, he was―in Nines’ opinion―more than tolerable. He wondered offhand what had driven Gavin to put up such barriers around himself, but he already had an admittedly comprehensive knowledge of this, and it wasn’t his place to pry further. But...did Gavin have this sort of soft spot for anything else?

Nines quickly pushed that thought to the back of his mind as he looked up at Gavin, now cooing softly to a contented Fergie, and was met with his partner meeting his gaze with a gentle smile for just a moment. Now was not the time for the emotions bubbling in his chest. He knew they were emotions, that much was apparent, but he couldn’t tell for sure which ones they were, or what their source was (okay, maybe that second part was a lie), and he wasn’t particularly looking forward to analyzing them when just the idea of giving thought to them made him fear an overwhelming flood of the things. He wanted to  _ feel _ , that was what had started this whole journey in the first place, but not like this. Not all at once. Not too much.

He returned his attention to Mer, who was now pressing against the place on his chest where his thirium pump was. He had never heard anything about cats taking a liking to a thirium pump, but then again, he had never heard much about cats in the first place. She was a sweet animal, he supposed, and his initial opinion of her and Fergie was much the same as that of Sumo, but of course he hadn’t been around them for long enough to tell what they were truly like. And, with both cats and dogs, as with many things, such a small sample size was not enough to be telling of an entire population. 

Nevertheless, Nines was not looking for some phenomenal insight on the nature of cats or dogs as a whole (and endless studies and articles existed on the topic, were he to decide that was something he was interested in), but was rather looking to see how he, personally, felt about them. He, as a mortal. A creature with emotions and wants and likes. Not a machine.

Mer let out a quiet  _ mrrp _ noise, and something inside Nines sparked with affection. Even as she squirmed out of his arms and padded away, little feet creating a slight sound against the hardwood floor, he was smiling. Fergie, meanwhile, had decided to act in what a quick Internet search deemed to be typical kitten fashion, and had fallen fast asleep in the crook of Gavin’s elbow. Unbound by feline-related obligations of his own, Nines moved forward and bent down slightly to be at eye level with the small orange cat. He realized quickly that, although he could have easily cross-referenced a number of resources to determine what the most effective method of approaching the creature would be, it came to him almost intuitively how to act. 

Nines reached out and, as gently as he could muster―all the while deeply cognizant of how his hands had been designed to kill, to mangle, to destroy―stroked the top of Fergie’s head with a single finger, right over the white stripe in the middle of his forehead. Fast asleep, the cat shifted in Gavin’s arms but didn’t otherwise reply. 

Nines straightened up. Gavin’s face was plastered with that usual mischievous smile of his, but its source was not the usual chaos or pandemonium he favored. Rather, he was gazing down at Fergie with all the love of a parent cradling their young child. Which, Nines supposed, was a fairly accurate metaphor for Gavin’s relationship to his cats. 

Gavin looked up to meet Nines’ gaze, and made a gesture that looked like a wink, but with both eyes. Not even a blink―it was most definitely meant to be a wink, though it wasn’t very successful. It was endearing nonetheless, something that was becoming quickly more apparent to Nines as the contented silence between the two of them grew. 

“I must say,” Nines remarked, in a hushed tone, “this is the quietest I’ve ever seen you.”

“ _ Shh, _ ” Gavin enunciated, “the baby is sleeping.”

Nines shook his head, smiling at his partner’s antics. Leave it to Gavin to recall obscure pop culture references from decades ago. Then again, Gavin’s reply did, in a way, answer the question: he was quiet, and soft, and  _ all of this _ , because he loved his cats. 

The quick and gentle pitter-patter of bean-shaped toes and tiny paws on hardwood met Nines’ ears, and he looked down to find that Mer, who had drifted into another room, was now running back to the two of them.

“Gavin, if I may―”

“ _ Shh! _ ” 

Gavin gave Nines a look not unlike that of the proverbial inconvenienced PTA mom as he skirted across the room, sleeping cat in his arms the whole time, and deposited Fergie on a cat bed that looked to be of notably better quality than the nearby couch. Nines was still repressing his laughter when Gavin returned to his side.

“You do really love those cats,” Nines said. 

“Of course.” Gavin put a hand on his chest and scoffed in a show of dramatic flair. “Only the best for my babies. But the important question is, how do  _ you _ feel about them?”

Mer made that little  _ mrrp _ sound again from where she had made herself at home weaving in between Nines’ legs and around his feet. Nines looked down at her. Something light and affectionate bubbled in his chest. He looked back at Gavin, and that feeling was accompanied by a sharper, brighter one, the origin of which Nines was wary to pinpoint.

Nines smiled. “I do quite like them. Overall, they evoke positive emotions in me.”

“Interesting wording.”

Heat rose in Nines’ cheeks, no doubt tinted blue. “Yes. Fine. I like them.”

Gavin leaned closer. “More than dogs? More than Sumo?”

“Gavin, you know I can’t make that choice in good conscience, Connor would never forgive me. Hank would―”

The look Gavin gave him in that moment was akin to the look Sumo made when he had already eaten but wanted food again, and assumed that begging would get his way. In Sumo’s case, this was an incorrect assumption. In Gavin’s case, not so much. And it wasn’t a lie, anyways.

“Yes, Gavin. I like cats.”

Even if it hadn’t been the truth, Nines would have said it again just for the overwhelmingly delighted response it elicited from Gavin. There was something about saying that out loud, too, that made Nines wonder if he was missing a part of it, leaving something out. 

_ I like... _ the mental sentence ended there. But Gavin was smiling, which was always pleasant to see (especially when Nines was the one responsible for it), and Mer was being cute and soft and generally adorable, and Nines was  _ feeling _ very much, so much that he almost wondered if the version of him panicking on a bathroom floor in November was not the same version that existed right now. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> again, thank you to everyone who's reading, whether you stuck around from the beginning or you're just now finding this fic! 
> 
> also, fergie is short for fergus, and mer is short for boomer. no, i don't feel a single shred of remorse.


	6. 5/5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 5/5, sensory overload and touch.
> 
> warnings for discussion of anxiety, panic, mental illness in general, and sensory overload

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well huh i havent updated this since november
> 
> what can i say except...writer's block is an obstinate bastard  
last chapter should come in a reasonable amount of time provided that my schedule actually stays predictable for once; i _do_ have a very good idea of what im going to write for it :)
> 
> pls enjoy? ♡

Nines was equipped with a sensory array more advanced that that of perhaps any other android in existence, but for a long time he avoided giving much thought to the consequences of this. He was meant to pick up on everything in his environment, emphasis on  _ everything _ because that really wasn’t an exaggeration, and his processors were meant to be able to handle it, but. Well. It got overwhelming sometimes, especially what with the changes that deviancy brought to his day-to-day life. 

Since he usually didn’t find himself acting the part of a walking murder machine these days, he could initiate physical contact with others in a nonviolent way. This is not something his programming encouraged him to do, and it took him a while to get used to it all―Connor hugging him, Hank clapping him on the shoulder, handshakes from all number of people. Later on, Gavin. Not even anything specific, just  _ Gavin _ in general. 

He found that he was noticing things without consciously willing it—more so than before, he wasn’t just observing any more, wasn’t recycling everything not chiefly necessary out of a fear that all of it would be too much. That was what he did at first, when he broke down the red walls and found himself without a mission, with nothing but too much data floating aimlessly around in his skull.

And it  _ was  _ too much, sometimes, the overload of information to his senses that came in through state-of-the-art processors and tested his true capabilities to analyze data. The lack of such data could be bothersome at times, too, when he had been used to searching for every minute detail and analyzing everything. It seemed as if, when he wanted to be otherwise occupied, he could focus on nothing but the grain and chemical composition of the plastic in his desk, the origin of a particular defect in manufacturing that was too small to make out with the naked eye and the origin of a larger dent, the result of an unfortunate trip; but somehow, when he was idling and every circuit in his body was screaming at him to do something, his processors, out of some odd and misguided self-preservation, refused to bring in anything but that which was most essential. 

In humans, this overflow of input to the processors is called sensory overload. It can happen for many reasons, and is sometimes linked to chronic anxiety issues. Though ranging from annoying to downright panic-inducing, Nines found it strangely interesting, especially in conjunction with his rapidly dawning realization that he was very,  _ very _ touch-starved.

Many studies had shown that humans, being naturally social creatures, require both physical and emotional comfort and contact to stay mentally stable. Nines supposed that, given that he was Cyberlife’s closest approximation of a human, it was no surprise he would also carry such traits. It had already been established that he formed relationships much like many humans would, and he certainly was no stranger to what, in a human, would be deemed mental illness. 

He wondered, sometimes, if an android could be diagnosed with PTSD, or panic disorder, or other such things. That would no doubt be something the scientists and therapists figured out soon, but in the wake of the deviancy epidemic and subsequent android uprising, other things had been on society’s mind.

And he liked to think he handled his problems relatively well, anyways. More and more, as time went on, and Nines got used to things, and he tried different ways of coping.

When it came to his general disdain for idling, he found himself drawn towards the coin that Connor seemed to favor, but he quickly decided against it. It wasn’t that he thought it wouldn’t work; no, he knew that fidgeting definitely helped him have something to do, something to dull the aggravating buzz of an otherwise unoccupied mind. But Nines had this strange complex, borne of his earliest memories, that drove him away from any mannerisms that would make him seem too similar to Connor. They were not the same person, so Nines avoided coins.

He quite enjoyed fidgeting with a lighter, though, particularly when it was lit. He found an entertaining challenge in devising the most complicated patterns in which to roll the lighter between his fingers, while simultaneously avoiding injury. He also favored knives, especially butterfly knives. (Gavin found this rather disconcerting at first, but also expressed interest bordering on a sense of awe. On occasion, Gavin’s heart rate would spike when Nines performed such knife tricks, but he insisted that he wasn’t scared. What that meant...it would be incorrect to say that Nines wasn’t sure, but if it meant what the evidence pointed to, he truly wasn’t sure what to do about that.) 

Aside from knives and lighters, Nines also found that practicing the violin was a good way for him to induce an almost meditative state, to calm himself while simultaneously giving himself something to do. And it was very sensory, balancing the coordination of both hands, his eyes, his ears. Many things went into playing a piece well, and not just technically, but bringing  _ emotion _ into it (Nines became particularly proud of his growing ability to do this; to him, it was a sign that he was breaking free of his emotionless and rather clinical programming). Reading the music while playing became easier over time, as did memorization―out of a desire for more challenge, and maybe a little bit of a desire for more humanity, he opted not to memorize his music automatically, instead doing so through the natural progression of muscle memory that most humans would utilize.

In addition to his revelations about sensory overload, Nines found that his... _ tactile  _ nature has its positive side. He was the first to admit that a good hug from a friend reduced his stress levels drastically―hell, just thinking about the fact that he  _ had _ friends! and they were so wonderful! there really were so many good things in this world! reduced his stress levels too―and Gavin in particular was very tactile with the people he cared about. Nines’ processors had skipped over this character trait in the beginning, no doubt a subconscious executive decision that it was inconsequential, but the more he looked for it, the more he found it. Casual fistbumps, a hand on a shoulder here and there, elbowing Nines for a response when he cracked a joke he found absolutely hilarious (this was usually met with a sarcastic reply that only evoked more laughter from Gavin), knees brushing when he would sit next to Nines, a one-armed hug. He seemed a little hesitant with everyone, as if trying to overcome some internalized feeling that was undoubtedly the leftovers of the cold-yet-also-hot-headed, stubbornly independent persona he’d been slowly breaking down for the last year.

But, for all his hesitance, he seemed to be more close, more  _ trusting _ with Nines than with anyone else, except maybe Tina and his cats. Maybe Nines was just seeing what he wanted to see, but he couldn’t deny that all the data he had collected pointed towards Gavin acting exceptionally tactile around him.

Gavin’s reasoning behind this, though, was an entirely different matter, and one that Nines didn’t know how to even begin to examine. There were too many strange social nuances and conventions holding him back, and as much as he insisted he was no slave to the status quo of humans, he could only remove himself so much. Such was one of the costs of deviancy, but it was a price he was willing to pay, despite the streak in his personality that made him permanently disinclined to “fit in” any more than he absolutely had to.

Sometimes, though, he wished he were a cat, able to drape himself affectionately across those he cared about and lie together in a sunbeam, with none of the questions and consequences that would come from such intimacy in reality. It wasn’t even a matter of toxic masculinity, a concept more and more obscure with every passing year, so much as it was the deep-set knowledge Nines had about his relationship with Gavin Reed. He didn’t want to acknowledge it, but he knew he’d be fine draping himself over Connor like a cat, or even Tina. They were friends, and these were the sort of things that close friends did, knowing that there were no strings attached. 

But he hesitated with Gavin every time they hugged, or every time one of them got too close to the other, no matter who had initiated contact, because he felt that there might be something more there.


	7. +1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> +1
> 
> Nines learns something he sort of already knew.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi i wrote this while madly sick and after eating way too many anesthetic cough drops so i absolutely Cannot conceptualize time and there are probably a million typos and inconsistencies :^
> 
> i hope everyone enjoys this nonetheless! ♡
> 
> finishing this fic reminded me how much i _adore_ g9 and their dynamics; although i'm probably not going to get all the way back into dbh anytime soon i think i might return to this corner of fandom when i have the time :)

**November 17, 2040**

Two years had taught Nines many things, but there were some things that he didn’t really have to learn, only rediscover―things buried deep that he had known from the start.  
His capacity for love was one of these things.  
As he did when first realizing it, he often thought about this while playing the violin. Lost to practicing the same few bars over and over again, embedding them into his muscle memory, his fingers danced up and down the fingerboard with grace and precision, and his thoughts danced along with far less of these two attributes.  
Stripped of the need, and also of the desire, to follow his now-nonexistent handler, Nines’ impressive mental capacity had been left open to absorb all manner of new things―anxiety, music, fears, cats, friends. Love. Finding himself with time on his hands (often not much of it, when his caseload got particularly stressful, but certainly always more than Amanda would have ever let him get away with) often left him unsure what to do with himself, but he had begun to acclimate to it. He had begun to let himself be something―someone―other than a high-functioning, perfect machine.   
At first, he’d tried to force himself into emotions, faking smiles and reacting too quickly and too intensely, following social protocols he’d downloaded off the Internet down to the letter. But he’d eventually realized (with some gentle pushing from Connor) that this wasn’t the way to do things, and after this realization he’d begun to relax into the fearfully tantalizing grip of his own humanity.  
Once, on Nines’ second birthday, on the one year anniversary of Nines’ conversation with Gavin in that bathroom, Gavin came to his place, instead of the other way around.   
For a while, Nines had lived with Connor and Hank, but he’d eventually decided he liked a bit more solitude than sharing a room with his brother provided. (He could still be found at the Anderson residence often enough that the place was like a second home, though.)  
On this particular occasion, it was a slow day for both of them, cool and dreary, and the windows in Nines’ apartment were cracked open to let in some fresh air, but not in his bedroom. Here, the temperature of the room was as controlled as Nines could make it, along with its humidity, to ensure the safety of his violin. The instrument was no Stradivarius, that was for sure, but it hadn’t been cheap either, and Nines cherished it. With not much planned until the family night out Hank and Connor had planned for Nines’ birthday later that day, and both of them free, he and had Gavin decided on a whim to spend some time together, an increasingly common occurrence as of late. It wasn’t even a...date, or whatever it would be called when one platonically went to some social outing with a friend.   
(Never mind that Nines wasn’t sure this thing they had was entirely platonic.)  
They would just be enjoying each other’s presence, coexisting. Gavin let himself in, too, another thing he did more and more often these days (and vice versa; after Nines showed up at Gavin’s apartment for the third time in a row one week, Gavin threw an extra key at him and told him to keep it. Neither of them mentioned the significance of this ritual, the exchanging of keys, the opening of doors. Nines thought that, in doing this, he and Gavin were letting each other into more than their respective homes.  
Nines was a third of the way through a particularly irksome etude, which consisted of quick shifts that even he struggled to make sound good, when Gavin showed up. His environmental sensors picked up on Gavin entering the apartment, noting the light fall of footsteps, the jangling of keys, a muffled cough. He kept playing. He made it to the end of one phrase, and was tempted to go on, but one lesson that the violin had taught him was that patience was key, especially when it came to such methodologically precise and emotive skills. He restarted, and felt a surge of accomplishment as he made a quick succession of shifts without messing up the pitch of some of the higher notes that had been bothering. The temptation to cheat with his programming was no longer noticeable after months of learning, although his advanced processors gave him a leg up over all but the most prodigious of humans.  
He sensed Gavin entering his room, waiting at the threshold, but didn’t look away from the sheet music. Now satisfied with his progress for the day, he ran through the last few bars one more time, and then finally put down his violin, holding it as carefully as he would a baby as he turned to greet his partner.  
Gavin’s arms were crossed over his chest, but it wasn’t a defensive gesture. His legs were crossed too, and he was leaning casually on one side of the doorframe, smiling softly at Nines. The second their eyes met, his expression changed to a more casual grin.   
“Hey, Vivaldi,” he said. “Happy birthday.”  
Nines regarded him with something between exasperation and amusement. Gavin knew about as much about classical music as his appearance would suggest, which is to say that he recognized Pachelbel’s Canon, Tchaikovsky’s Swan Lake, and not much else. When it came to the music he’d grown up around, though, he knew a lot more. One old band he happened to be a fan of was AC/DC, whose song Thunderstruck contained a particularly interesting solo at the beginning. While not originally written for the violin, it had been transposed in the past, and Nines had learned it―in secret, that is, because it had been just for this occasion.  
“Would you rather I play something you know?” he asked.  
Gavin shifted to make himself more comfortable, something that Nines wasn’t sure was actually possible with his posture.  
“Surprise me.”  
Nines lifted his violin to his shoulder again, and readjusted his grip on the bow. He took in a deep breath, and let it out slowly and steadily. And he began to play.  
All the blood drained out of Gavin’s face as, after a few measures, the melody became recognizable. Nines didn’t have sheet music for this piece, no, he’d memorized it, so instead of staring at the music stand he sort of gazed off at nothing in particular. He could look at Gavin and not falter in his playing, but that was a risky move for more than one reason―he’d risk slipping up from the ensuing challenge to his focus, and part of him was wary of the emotions that might be revealed if Gavin really looked into his eyes right now.  
Well, Nines had never been one to be afraid of risk.His preconstruction program was running in the background, as it always did, and he could certainly will up precise numbers telling him the odds of reciprocation or rejection, but he somehow felt like that would be unfair. He didn’t want to be a prophet; he didn’t want to keep holding onto the same old safety net for the rest of his life.  
He finished the piece with a flourish, and finally, finally looked Gavin in the eyes. Nines’ partner was in awe, and his vitals were spiking. Nines faltered as he placed his violin back in the case, gently wiping down the strings with a soft cloth, loosening his bow, going through the motions. He kept his gaze trained on Gavin the entire time, waiting for a reaction, and as the click of the case’s latches rang out, giving Nines’ impromptu performance a sense of finality, he finally got that reaction.  
“Holy shit,” Gavin said, jaw dropping, and then, “you learned that? You didn’t just download it?”  
Nines smiled. “Yes. I learned and memorized it just as a human would. I thought you’d like it.”  
“I―” Gavin broke off, stuttering, and Nines wondered for a moment if he had read this wrong, but then he was grinning hard, stepping forward.   
“I love it. That’s my favorite AC/DC song, how did you know?”  
Nines tilted his head, smirking. “I pay attention to you more than you might think. You could say it’s returning the favor.” At this, he lowered his gaze to the floor, unsure if he’d said more than he should have.  
The floorboards creaked gently as Gavin stepped closer.   
“What do you mean?” he asked.  
“I’ve learned a lot in this last year, about myself. About the world. About you, too. I have you to thank for much of that experience.”  
“Most of it was you, Nines. I just gave you the push you needed to get started.”  
“Still. You’ve stuck with me this whole time, and I think we’ve both changed for the better. As I said, I’ve learned many things. But there are also some things I suppose I already knew, deep down, and just needed that little push to bring to the surface.”  
Gavin was silent, and Nines finally met his eyes again. His cheeks were red, as were the tips of his ears, and his heart rate was still elevated.  
“Tell me if I’m wrong,” Nines said, giving him one last chance to back away, because he deserved it, especially if Nines was reading this wrong. For all his growth in the last year, he still lacked social programming equivalent to that of most androids, or to what most humans of his perceived age would possess, and this made him wary of misstepping in important conversations such as this one.  
Nines didn’t have to think about his next words, though, because when his mouth opened again it was as Gavin closed the distance between them, kissing him. Nines had expected Gavin to kiss like he punched―fiery, rough, quick―but to his surprise (and when had he thought about how Gavin would kiss him? It was a mild surprise for Nines to realize that he had, in fact, imagined this moment before), it was more like the way he hugged. Passionate, with just a touch of the existential fire that was embodied in his every action, but he was in no rush.  
Another realization, though this one was less surprising, was that Nines enjoyed it (and, by rA9, was he glad he’d put away his violin, he thought as his arms found their way around Gavin’s midsection).  
Finally, Gavin needing breath and Nines needing to recalibrate his processors, they broke apart. Gavin’s hands dug into the shoulders of Nines’ shirt in a way that was simultaneously desperate and gentle, and Nines left his hands comfortably laced together in the small of Gavin’s back.  
“Well, that was a bit unexpected,” Gavin said, “but I guess it had to happen sooner or later.”  
Before Nines was even aware of it, he was throwing back his head and laughing, a hearty and delighted sound. That was a rarity for him, and Nines was as struck by it as Gavin’s expression suggested he was.  
“Now,” Gavin said, “as incredible as that performance was, it’s your birthday, not mine.”  
Nines raised an eyebrow, suspicious, but he was smiling. “You have something planned, don’t you? Something you’re not telling me.”  
Gavin blushed. “Maybe.” He untangled one arm from Nines’ and reached into his pocket. Out came two small slips of paper, old-fashioned tickets, and Nines found himself blushing too as he processed the text written on them.  
Romantic Era Orchestral Tribute, Matinee Seating. 11/17/40, 1:00 P.M.  
“Gavin!” he exclaimed, and Gavin grinned madly at him. “I did my research too.”  
Nines shook his head, his own grin mirroring Gavin’s. They were still standing close together, holding each other. He leaned forward and pressed a quick kiss to Gavin’s lips then, his synthetic heart jumping a little at his partner’s eager reciprocation, and then pulled back again.  
“Thank you, Gavin,” he said softly, and then, smirking: “It’s half past eleven, though.”  
He looked down at Gavin’s worn jeans and work boots. “Unless you somehow have a suit jacket and Oxfords hidden under all that, you might need to run back to your apartment.”  
A year could change nothing, and a year could change everything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> massive thanks to everyone who read this, whether you've been here from the start or you just found this fic and read it all in one sitting! if you like dbh, star wars, and/or pacific rim, i shamelessly suggest you subscribe to me for more Content(tm)
> 
> if not, i still appreciate every single kudos, comment, and bookmark ♡


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